Analysis of The Singing Of The Magnificat

Edith Nesbit 1858 (Kennington, Surrey ) – 1924 (New Romney, Kent)



IN midst of wide green pasture-lands, cut through
By lines of alders bordering deep-banked streams,
Where bulrushes and yellow iris grew,
And rest and peace, and all the flowers of dreams,
The Abbey stood--so still, it seemed a part
Of the marsh-country's almost pulseless heart.

Where grey-green willows fringed the stream and pool,
The lazy meek-faced cattle strayed to graze,
Sheep in the meadows cropped the grasses cool,
And silver fish shone through the watery ways,
And many a load of fruit and load of corn
Into the Abbey storehouses was borne.

Yet though so much they had of life's good things,
The monks but held them as a sacred trust,
Lent from the storehouse of the King of kings
Till they, His stewards, should crumble back to dust.
'Not as our own,' they said, 'but as the Lord's,
All that the stream yields, or the land affords.'

And all the villages and hamlets near
Knew the monks' wealth, and how their wealth was spent.
In tribulation, sickness, want, or fear,
First to the Abbey all the peasants went,
Certain to find a welcome, and to be
Helped in the hour of their extremity.

When plague or sickness smote the people sore,
The Brothers prayed beside the dying bed,
And nursed the sick back into health once more,
And through the horror and the danger said:
'How good is God, Who has such love for us,
He lets us tend His suffering children thus!'

They in their simple ways and works were glad:
Yet all men must have sorrows of their own.
And so a bitter grief the Brothers had,
Nor mourned for others' heaviness alone.
This was the secret of their sorrowing,
That not a monk in all the house could sing!

Was it the damp air from the lovely marsh,
Or strain of scarcely intermitted prayer,
That made their voices, when they sang, as harsh
As any frog's that croaks in evening air--
That made less music in their hymns to lie
Than in the hoarsest wild-fowl's hoarsest cry?

If love could sweeten voice to sing a song,
Theirs had been sweetest song was ever sung:
But their hearts' music reached their lips all wrong,
The soul's intent foiled by the traitorous tongue
That marred the chapel's peace, and seemed to scare
The rapt devotion lingering in the air.

The birds that in the chapel built their nests,
And in the stone-work found their small lives fair,
Flew thence with hurled wings and fluttering breasts
When rang the bell to call the monks to prayer.
'Why will they sing,' they twittered, 'why at all?
In heaven their silence must be festival!'

The brothers prayed with penance and with tears
That God would let them give some little part
Out for the solace of their own sad ears
Of all the music crowded in their heart.
Their nature and the marsh-air had their way,
And still they sang more vilely every day.

And all their prayers and fasts availing not
To give them voices sweet, their souls' desire,
The Abbot said, 'Gifts He did not allot
God at our hands will not again require;
The love He gives us He will ask again
In love to Him and to our fellow-men.

'Praise Him we must, and since we cannot praise
As we would choose, we praise Him as we can.
In heaven we shall be taught the angels' ways
Of singing--we afford to wait a span.
In singing, as in toil, do ye your best;
God will adjust the balance--do the rest!'

But one good Brother, anxious to remove
This, the reproach now laid on them so long,
Rejected counsel, and for very love
Besought a Brother, skilled in art of song,
To come to them--his cloister far to leave--
And sing Magnificat on Christmas Eve.

So when each brown monk duly sought his place,
By two and two, slow pacing to the choir,
Shrined in his dark oak stall, the strange monk's face
Shone with a light as of devotion's fire,
Good, young and fair, his seemed a form wherein
Pure beauty left no room at all for sin.

And when the time for singing it had come,
'Magnificat,' face raised, and voice, he sang:
Each in his stall the monks stood glad and dumb,
As through the chancel's dusk his voice outrang,
Pure, clear, and perfect--as the thrushes sing
Their first impulsive welcome of the spring.

At the first notes the Abbot's heart spoke low:
'Oh God, accept this singing, seeing we,
Had we the power, would ever praise Thee so--
Would ever, Lord, Thou know'st, sing thus for Thee; <


Scheme ABABCC DEDEFF GHGHII JKJKLL MNMNOO PQPQRR STSTUU RRRRTT VTVTXX XCXCWW XYXYZZ E1 E1 2 2 XRXR3 3 4 Y4 Y5 5 6 R6 RRR 7 L7 L
Poetic Form
Metre 0111110111 1111100111 11010101 01010101011 0101111101 10110111 111110101 0101110111 100110101 01011101001 01001110111 010101011 1111111111 0111110101 110110111 11110110111 11101111101 1101110101 0101000101 1011011111 001010111 1101010101 1011010011 10010110100 1111010101 0101010101 0101101111 0101000101 1111111111 11111100101 1011010101 1111110111 0101010101 11110101 11010111 1101010111 1101110101 1111011 1111011111 1101110101 1111001111 10011111 1111011101 1111011101 1111011111 01011101001 1101010111 01010100001 0110010111 0001111111 1111101001 1101110111 111111111 01011011100 0101110011 1111111101 1101011111 1101010011 1100011111 0111111001 01110111 11110111010 0101111101 11101110110 0111111101 01110110101 1111011101 1111111111 01011110101 1101011101 0101011111 1101010101 1111010101 1001111111 0101001101 101010111 1111110111 0111101 1111110111 11011101010 1011110111 110111110 1101110101 1101111111 0101110111 1110111 1011011101 11011111 1100110101 1101010101 101101111 1101110101 11010110111 11011111111
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,250
Words 783
Sentences 25
Stanzas 16
Stanza Lengths 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 4
Lines Amount 94
Letters per line (avg) 35
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 206
Words per stanza (avg) 48
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

3:56 min read
70

Edith Nesbit

Edith Nesbit (married name Edith Bland) was an English author and poet; she published her books for children under the name of E. Nesbit. She wrote or collaborated on more than 60 books of children's literature. She was also a political activist and co-founded the Fabian Society, a socialist organisation later affiliated to the Labour Party. more…

All Edith Nesbit poems | Edith Nesbit Books

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